Chapter 74: Working a Part-Time Job in a Ferrari

George and James exchanged glances, each satisfied with Sumu’s character. A “low-rent” shared apartment never lacked tenants; just a few days earlier, two prospective renters had come by. When things were explained to them, one simply replied he’d sell his share, while the other said he’d made a profit.

In comparison, Sumu’s actions—treating everyone to dinner and offering to pay for utilities—left a much better impression on George and James. They could tell he was a good person, and with housemates who might be living together for a long time, getting along was essential.

Daniel’s cousin James smiled and said, “Alright, it’s your room now. How about paying three months’ rent up front? If you’re short on cash, one month is fine. Just pay George directly—it’s his aunt’s house. Sound good?”

He ended by consulting George, who, seeing their new, young Chinese housemate, felt no concerns about his private life and was sure they’d get along well. George nodded, “Of course. I’ll remind you ahead of time when rent is due, and about splitting utilities—you’re aware, right?”

Sumu replied, “That’s fine. Just let me know how much…”

Perhaps drawn by their voices, Richard Lee appeared at the doorway with a bowl of instant noodles, silently biting into them and looking at George for an explanation. When Richard saw Sumu, he thought he looked familiar, then recalled seeing him at the Menlo Park campus gates that morning—he’d been caught speeding by the police and sentenced to a hundred hours of community service. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been helping direct traffic outside Menlo Park.

Upon learning from George that Sumu would be moving in, Richard said nothing in welcome or protest, simply returned to his room with his noodles, eating with apparent enjoyment.

Sensing Sumu might feel awkward, James smiled and reassured him, “Don’t worry—he’s Richard Lee, also Chinese, a bit eccentric but a good guy. He’s in our department, two years behind us.”

“You’re Chinese too—maybe you’ve heard of his father? He’s supposedly a billionaire from Hong Kong, worth several hundred million, the kind who’s dined with the Queen of England. That Ferrari downstairs is Richard’s.”

George’s tone was tinged with envy as he glanced at the door and lowered his voice, “He used to live next door in a big house all by himself, always had a maid to cook for him. Then, after some falling out with his family, he started working odd jobs, driving that Ferrari to support himself.”

The contrast was stark: the son of a billionaire, working odd jobs with a Ferrari. Sumu was stunned.

If Richard had been white, this wouldn’t have surprised Sumu; many wealthy westerners believe in “tough love” for their children. More accurately, the children often refuse their parents’ money, motivated by healthier social values and personal ambition. Idle heirs are frowned upon and never considered successful.

But in Chinese society, almost all elders leave their wealth to their descendants, terrified their children might suffer. The younger generation also sees using family money as only natural—an entirely different mindset. Cases like Richard’s were extremely rare.

James continued, “I used to dislike him, but lately I see him differently. I thought he’d sell his car or make up with his family, but instead, he’s stuck it out at a travel agency for over half a year, earning his own money.”

“His father came to see him once. They argued, but I could tell that super-rich father was proud of his son’s efforts…”

As George and James took turns describing Richard, Sumu’s opinion of him changed as well.

He didn’t know Richard’s personality, but to earn his own way with such a wealthy father took real strength—certainly far superior to the likes of the Wang family’s third-generation scion.

***

Sumu returned to campus, retrieved his suitcase, and unpacked his clothes—he finally had a place to stay and didn’t have to worry about being homeless when school started.

Rent was five hundred dollars a month, with the condition that he’d handle cleaning. That wasn’t a problem. That evening, he treated Daniel to McDonald’s, and they became acquainted. Making a friend on his first day in Menlo Park was a good start.

Back at the house, he ran into James, who, along with George, had caught only a distant glimpse of Ms. Audrey Hepburn and lamented that she looked so much older than they remembered.

Since ancient times, beauties and heroes alike are denied the sight of their own gray hair. The media once called Audrey Hepburn “God’s most perfect masterpiece,” yet time had changed her beyond recognition. Unsure how to comfort them, Sumu changed the subject and asked where he could buy a bicycle. Taxis were too expensive, walking too time-consuming, so he decided biking was the way to go.

Counting his money in his room, he found that the stack the Wang family’s young man had tossed him totaled $6,100. Sumu marveled at the wealth—what he’d sweated for over a month to earn, a rich kid could throw away like scrap paper.

His feelings were complicated. For the first time, his pride had been trampled underfoot. Sumu didn’t feel ashamed—after all, he’d thrown money back as well, and that was some comfort, though he couldn’t deny the frustration. The wealth gap, after all, was enormous.

He called home from the living room to let his family know he was safe, just as he’d promised before leaving that morning. The phone rang only once before his grandfather picked up—perhaps he’d been waiting by the phone all evening. They chatted briefly, and hearing the old man’s concern, Sumu refrained from mentioning that he’d rented a place off campus, not wanting his parents to worry. His intentions were good, but he was keeping yet another secret from his family.

At that moment, Sumu heard a car engine outside and saw headlights sweep through the window—no doubt Richard Lee returning from his evening out.

Soon Richard entered, wearing a uniform from “Universal Dream Travel Agency” and sat on the living room sofa near Sumu, opening a beer. He wasn’t yet of legal drinking age, but nobody cared at home—Sumu had done the same.

Richard didn’t speak, just turned on the TV, his expression troubled, as if something had happened.

Sumu sensed it wasn’t a good time for conversation, but there was a question he couldn’t let go, or he wouldn’t sleep that night. He asked, “Do you really think Wang’s Computer Company will go bankrupt? You said so earlier today.”

Realizing his question was abrupt, he added, “That Wang guy tried to humiliate me with money—threw over six grand out the car window, nearly hit me in the face.”

“…Then you made a profit. I helped provoke him; you should split it with me,” Richard joked half-seriously. He was truly short on cash—his bank account was full, but he refused to use his father’s money. Lately, even paying rent had been tough—Sumu was better off than he was.

When Sumu said nothing, Richard, knowing too well the sting of wounded pride, paused and continued, “If their company doesn’t change, according to Moore’s Law, their products will be obsolete in five years. But if you’re hoping for a spectacle, don’t hold your breath—a starved camel is still bigger than a horse.”

Sumu knew he wasn’t the horse; even if the Wang family went bankrupt, they’d still be wealthier than him. That much was clear.

Crude words, but true enough. Sumu replied with a simple “Thanks,” went upstairs, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He’d arrived in Silicon Valley, but as for his future, he had no idea what to do next.

That night, Sumu took a hot shower and slept soundly in a soft bed.